Part VI: Initiation

Chapter XXXV: Punar Onkira Vinori

In the coming night, the elven mage heard the sound of running feet reaching his ears from the gate of the building. He woke his sleeping companions from the short dream they had immediately fallen into after overcoming the terrifying shadow.

“Several Arkian priests are approaching,” he whispered tersely. “Wait… I hear them reciting incantations to reverse the inversion.”

“I feel the darkness has receded from the bridge,” Arsia noted, her eyelids still half-closed. “I think now is the best time for us to get out of here.”

Anskar was also fighting sleep, so he performed a short concentration exercise to restore the alertness that was lacking not only in him. In the next minute, however, he stood among the others at the door leading to the bridge.

Súlin moved at the head, illuminating the corridor that led to the neighboring house; right behind him walked Anskar, gripping his spear, and Omerin with her hand on the bowstring. Night Butterfly was the last to cross the massive threshold, and to his surprise, the door closed silently behind him on its own. He did not try to find out if it could be opened again; they were in too much of a hurry… When they passed through a short corridor bathed in yellow light into a small room, they saw a burning lamp within it, whose unusually vivid light caught their eyes.

Súlin tried to open the door to the adjacent room, but the moment he took the handle, the back of his hand struck rough masonry. The door was merely a perfect painting.

Anskar’s gaze slid over the precious furnishings of the chamber. Several shelves filled with exotic objects of gold and silver, clearly of non-Arkian origin, were hung on the walls. He approached a table to examine the contents of the vessels resting on its massive surface. Amused by the elf’s confusion, he looked into a pitcher standing in the middle—it was full of salt. The salt shaker standing next to it was, for a change, filled with water. Most striking, however, was a large carved wardrobe that sat flush against the front wall of the chamber. The young warrior curiously approached it, turned the bronze fitting in its lock, and with a slow movement, opened both its wings.

Everyone’s eyes rushed to discover its contents shrouded in mystery, but what they saw exceeded their expectations—they were looking into the empty space of an unlit corridor leading to another room.

“Hello, is anyone here?” the warrior called out loudly into the dark maw. Instead of an answer, he heard only his own echo and the voices of birds coming through the corridor from outside. When they traversed it, they found themselves on the walkway of the house, below which a widely sprawling, well-maintained garden full of flowers lay. They looked through the web of the wrought-iron railing and saw a man of smaller stature but noble appearance. He stood sideways to them, with a stretched painting canvas on a stand before him, drawing a rough sketch of his painting on the white surface with steady strokes of his right hand. Without them having to announce themselves, the stranger addressed them, but he did not raise his eyes from his work.

“What intentions brought you into my garden?” the stranger asked. He put down the brush, wiped his hands, and turned to them with a slight smile. Vivid eyes shone from his smooth face; only his ashen hair reminded one of his age, which did not align with his youthful expression. “Does some profitable trade bring you, or do you prefer important information?” he continued, not without curiosity.

“Greetings, Punar, we come to you with a request for advice,” the elven mage replied for the others, as was his good habit.

“In that case, nothing prevents us from discussing everything over a cup of tea in my reading room.”

Punar’s reading room was a cozy rectangular room opening into the garden courtyard. From floor to ceiling stood shelves with books. The area between the shelves was filled with an intricately arranged mosaic of reddish-brown wood. Omerin looked around the reading room with interest and stepped closer to the books, which always and everywhere attracted her. To her surprise, however, she found that the bookshelves were again merely a remarkable illustration and that the wooden mosaic filling the space consisted of hundreds of spines of artfully arranged books. She quickly turned back to the master of the house.

Punar observed the newcomers closely, standing elegantly and relaxed with a slight smile on his lips. The traditional white cloak of the Arkins flowed from his shoulders, shrouding his upright figure. The pilgrims were enchanted by his appearance and what radiated from his entire personality. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes widened in wonder—in the folds of Punar’s snowy toga, his small, nimble palms appeared, and he was unconsciously toying with a gold band. Everyone present knew what it meant: the symbol of the King of Arkagant glinted in Punar’s hands. The noble elf waited only a moment until the wave of imperfectly hidden amazement passed, then he lightly cleared his throat and invited them to his table.

He could not fail to notice their injured skin, which was only slowly healing. “I see you are suffering from a strange form of smallpox,” he reminded them all of the recent attack by the shadow hornets. “If you wish, I will mix herbs from my garden to help heal the consequences of your injuries.”

“We will be indebted to you,” replied Anskar, sitting nearby and fighting bravely against weakness and sleep.

Punar, meanwhile, was pouring rose petal tea for his guests from a golden kettle.

“Very strange things are happening here,” Súlin proceeded to the main topic. “We passed through the neighboring house and only by a hair escaped death—that which the inhabitants clearly did not escape.”

“Some blood feuds must be awakened,” Punar noted without explanation and sat in a carved seat at the head of the table, “and this very time shortly before the Eclipse invites the awakening of these deeds.”

“We now face one urgent task,” the air mage continued without sitting down. “Tomorrow, we must reach the Aderán Temple at all costs, so that Suvarna, the divine child whom we found and still protect, can step into the flames of the unquenchable fire and thus prevent the dominance of eternal darkness. Nowhere have we managed to gain an advocate—the only one left to us is you. And if you do not help us, we will go alone,” Súlin spoke gravely into the cool night breeze that permeated the space.

“I have already heard of your child, and I also know of his double from the lineage of the underground Princes,” Punar replied to the surprise of everyone present. “The whole matter is all the more complicated, however, because Saurahan—as the Prince’s name most likely is—is Suvarna’s shadow and will not enter the temple unless you do so,” the gray-haired man replied decisively. “However, if you do not get there, Gamol will have a free hand in his actions. I do not withhold my help from you, however, and therefore I hereby invite you to our council tomorrow.”

After his words, hope shone in the faces of all the pilgrims, and they eagerly listened further to their host. “At this council, the fate of your ward Suvarna will be decided,” Punar ended his speech and rose from the table.

When Punar’s tired guests slowly left his house, their minds were filled with peace for the first time in a long while, and only the short rest of the rapidly aging night was to prepare them for tomorrow’s decisive battle.

Chapter XXXVI: Night Before Battle

They wove through the dark streets; heavy clouds hung from the sky, having swallowed the last Arkian stars. Anskar led his friends through the thickening darkness. With admirable reliability, he found the thread of the path, for his natural ability allowed him an easy, rapid advance as if in broad daylight. They felt admiration and gratitude toward him, because in the ensuing darkness and the unknown environment, they would have groped like the blind.

Compared to the previous night, there were again more people outside, heavily armed with swords; every so often, the clatter of noble metal or even muffled curses could be heard. Although there was restlessness in the streets, the long hooting of owls circling over the roofs of the houses pierced the air several times. A certainty grew within them that this night was a day, to be followed by a day that would be a night.

When Mornil arrived at his house, the entire company was already sitting by the fireplace in a circle around the boy, finishing the last bites of a light supper. They turned to the newcomer with a questioning look.

“The investigation in the house of the Erinus took place according to the regulations,” Mornil answered, put down his cloak, and sat exhaustedly on the ground next to Ignis; Rúnen immediately handed him hot herbal tea—so necessary to stimulate consciousness in this restless time.

“Did many people die?” Omerin asked quietly.

“Fortunately, almost everyone was away,” Mornil replied. “Three did not survive—the enemy attacked two women and one child. He chose an appropriate time when most of the inhabitants were not in their seat and used a ruse to sneak inside directly through the main door. When we carefully examined the site of the attack, we found the remains of cursed runes in the foundations of the house. Now excuse me, I would not like to disrupt your conversation with the boy, and besides, I am very tired, and not only physically…” Mornil ended his speech and said goodbye to everyone. On the threshold, he turned back, and the shadow of a smile slid across his face: “I sincerely advise you too, prepare yourselves as best you can for tomorrow.”

When the door closed behind Mornil, a lively discussion broke out in the reception hall of his house. The lion-woman sat near the fireplace with the boy in her arms, a gray cloak with a silver clasp given to her by Rúnen covering her shoulders, trying to understand the content of the ongoing conversation.

“What do you know about the nature of the shadow specters that attacked us in the darkness of the house of the Erinus?” Anskar addressed the first question to the boy.

“They are illusions and shadows evoked by the Inversion,” answered the little Suvarna without much thought, as he was maturing remarkably quickly. A single day of Suvarna’s life was a month in the world of ordinary mortals. “Shadows and illusions have always been easily disrupted by light; a sudden flash is most effective, or in the worse case, lightning itself,” the boy explained, “but some already know this very well, especially since the encounter with Gamol, which Ignis described to me today.”

“We have now verified with Súlin,” Omerin joined the conversation, “that a well-placed mirror can also confuse these living shadows.”

“Certain mirrors can disperse shadows for a time,” the boy confirmed, “others, conversely, strengthen them. It is important to realize that the Inversion tries to make maximum use of enclosed space. At the moment of the Eclipse, it will occur everywhere; it will even affect the Aderán Temple.”

“Enclosed space is necessary for the reversal of the Inversion as well, however,” the air mage noted. “The temple has no roof, and that will be the greatest obstacle in fulfilling our intentions.”

“Yes,” the boy agreed, “it will certainly be a complication; for us, however, the most important thing is to be there at the right time so that we have enough strength to turn the inversion of the fire, which will control the entire temple from its center.”

“We could create a boundary over the roof opening of the temple,” the young warrior hastily interjected.

“In the time we will have when penetrating the heart of the temple, it is unfeasible,” the boy answered curtly, his eyelids closing with fatigue.

“There is one more thing we must ask you, Suvarna,” Omerin intentionally raised her voice, and the dozing boy, startled from a short sleep, looked at her grumpily. The dryad, however, asked her question with unwavering certainty: “Does your shadow double need only the inversion of the fire, whatever it may be, or would only the Aderán itself be beneficial to him?”

“Hard to say,” said Suvarna in a low voice with half-closed eyelids, “but you’d better not try to throw him into the fire,” he finished and immediately fell fast asleep.

“Rúnen,” Súlin whispered to the lady of the house, “please prepare half a dozen pitch torches; we won’t be able to do without them tomorrow.”

Night Butterfly went out into the garden of the house and looked at the night sky. He felt it as if it were floating directly above the roof… immense, cold, and strong… “Perhaps five times stronger than usual,” he thought and, with thoughts heavy with concern, went to bed.

Chapter XXXVII: Punar’s Counsel

This time it was Rúnen who did not close her eyes for the rest of the night. She sat on the stone step of the inner courtyard with a view of the entrance gate, far enough to be able to distinguish even the faintest sound from the children’s rooms on the upper floor. She drank tea and leaned on her saber. Dawn was hesitantly entering Mornil’s house.

The first rays of the morning sunset touched the face of the air mage. The wizard rubbed his eyes and looked into the glow, which was now the color of blood, then he slowly sat up on his bed and barely audibly murmured: “That is not a good sign.” Then he quickly left the room and looked for the others.

The preparation was done in a hurry; few paid attention to the tasty breakfast on the table, but everyone thought of the most necessary things they had to take with them on the journey. They did not leave Mornil’s house without regret; it had become a reliable refuge for them after a long time, and they had met people here whom they could fully trust and whom they respected. As they walked out of its gates, more than one of the company looked back to see the roof of their short, quite possibly last, home, glinting in the morning dawn.

Mornil set out with them and now walked proudly at their head, side by side with his son. The path they took was one they already knew almost intimately. It was the shortest connection between the slopes of Carhain, the home of the local nobility, and Arka, the abode of the clergy. Although they already knew the way, they pushed through the chaotic crowd of people only with difficulty; their obvious nervousness disrupted the image of a quiet working day. The local inhabitants were dressed in traveling clothes, or even in various types of armor; at belts, one could see bared swords.

There were exactly three hours left until the fateful noon when Ignis knocked on the gates of Punar’s house on the Arkian slope.

“Welcome pilgrims, my name is Riva, and you are just in time; my husband is already expecting you,” the dark eyes of a pale brunette looked down at me from the door opening. We followed her through a short corridor, at the end of which we saw light. I entered the spacious circular hall with our graceful guide first. I smelled the pleasant scent of rare woods and could hardly resist the tense ceremonial atmosphere that dominated the space. Several people sat around a large table in the middle of the hall. We observed them with poorly hidden curiosity, for some faces were still shrouded in mystery to us.

Suddenly, I saw a familiar figure at a side bench. The man was leaning on a staff, and his left hand was wrapped in bandages. I waited impatiently to see his face. In a moment, his face emerged from the shadow, and I surely recognized the paladin Jezar. I did not hope he would be healthy and full of strength so quickly; I found it hard to believe, thinking of his injuries at the moment when we left him then alone under the crowns of the mature trees of the forest hill. I could not resist the joy of seeing him again. And I was not alone. Omerin watched the paladin with wide-open eyes and unconcealed enthusiasm.

The gathering, however, was presided over by the appearance of King Punar. Dressed in the snowy robe of the Arkian priests, Punar Onkira sat at the head of the table, seated on a smaller throne with a crown on his head. In the light of the lanterns, it shone with unprecedented brilliance. The nobility that radiated from his appearance confirmed my conviction that we could trust him. Behind the king’s back towered a massive dark red fireplace decorated with skillful frescoes.

When Punar gave us a signal, we approached the table and sat on the benches opposite him. In a short while, Punar’s words rang through the hall: “Welcome to my hall, friends, time passes relentlessly, and therefore we will begin without the introductory formalities that would only delay us unnecessarily. Allow me to introduce those present—well, I am, as you all already know, Punar Onkira Vinori, also known as Ibuaren, and I stand at the head of this company.”

His voice was resonant; he spoke calmly and with deliberation. Then he gestured to a noble man with silver hair and piercing eyes, sitting on the left side of his throne. The man stood up and spoke to us in a deep voice: “Lundir Solpinar Vinari, with some I do not need to introduce myself, but others I am very glad to know. Echoes of your famous deeds that you have performed have already reached me. Particularly you, I am glad to see again alive and healthy, Súlin the wizard!” he finished and looked at the air mage with a warm spark in his eye. I looked unnoticed at my friend the elf; although only a sober smile appeared on his face, I knew well how the spoken words pleased him.

I was still searching Súlin’s face with my eyes when a familiar voice rang through the hall: “Iaisar Atharvan Vinari,” the paladin introduced himself to all with a short bow, “Lundir and I arrived tonight.” Once more, I looked with admiration at the proudly upright figure of Jezar; I knew very well how much will and bravery he had to exert to conquer not only death but also himself.

“Carmaoth Ganú, of the Vinari clan,” another name rang through the hall. It was an older man of robust build who spoke and sat back comfortably in his chair. Strictness and reserve radiated from his facial features, but the coloration of his voice was friendly and warm.

I did not have time to observe him longer, however, because the space was made to resonate by a revitalizing female alto: “Ascra Garian Gonari.” It seemed to me the name spoken resonated in the air for a moment like a shot arrow, bounced off the walls of the hall, and returned to the one it belonged to. Courage and self-confidence radiated from her eyes, and her face was interesting, even though she apparently used no makeup at all. She had a sturdy build, and from several of her quick, agile gestures, I deduced she was a warrior or hunter. I could barely detach my eyes from her attractive appearance, but at the end of the table, the last, seventh member of Punar’s council arose. He was not dressed in Arkian white garb, but in scale armor of unknown metal and a cloak of white eagle feathers.

His gaze was clear and alert, and when he spoke, his voice did not even tremble: “Alqisaintri Vinar Vinari, they also call me White Sandal.” The last man of Punar’s community had the appearance and soul of a noble predator, and I knew from the first moment that a bond connected us, the nature of which I could not explain.

When White Sandal finished speaking, a complete silence fell for a short while. That moment of silence, however, was filled with the powerful force of the instant. We now stood on the threshold of the last task, and the weight of responsibility that fell on us all literally suffocated us. The decision hung in the air even before it was uttered.

“Thank you, Riva of the Vinari clan, for welcoming the guests; step closer now,” Punar spoke into the silence, turned to us, and rose for a second time from his throne. “Now you already know those whom I can trust implicitly. Now nothing prevents the child from being introduced to Jezar.”

Jezar slowly stood up, lightly leaning on a staff. The lion-woman approached the paladin with the child in her arms. Slowly and with great caution, she handed the boy into the outstretched hands of the brave warrior.

“Is he alright?” he asked the woman in a muffled tone.

“He doesn’t speak yet,” the boy answered quickly instead of her. His protector was not taken aback, however, and addressed the lion-woman in an unknown magical language. The lion-woman coughed stifledly, and the child immediately did so as well.

“Geez, man, you’d make even a stone talk like that,” the child said reproachfully to the man. His words dissolved in the air, for we all turned our attention to the lion-woman, who spoke for the first time. Her voice was rough and veiled, but its captivating quality moved not only me as she began to narrate:

“I am the last of my kind. My king and all my kin perished only so that the child could live. All my deeds that I have performed until now belong to those whose bodies remained lying under the snowdrifts of the icy mountain.”

“Believe me, I will do my utmost and find you a new lineage and a new king who will accept you,” the warrior replied with pity in his voice.

“The spirits of the forest fulfilled their promise to Jezar, but the lion-woman will now find it hard to seek peace under this sky,” Omerin said gravely.

“Yes, in the past you had to overcome many hardships, but now we have the cause of what provoked them before us,” Punar impatiently interrupted their conversation. “Now we must act. At the moment we do anything, however, Gamol will always be a step ahead of us. He too is now surrounded by his faithful, on whom he relies just as I rely on you.” Punar paused, and we hung eagerly on his lips with bated breath. “However, I warn you,” he continued and reached his hand toward us, “that I myself have not walked the world as long as this child, and no one present is as powerful as the maghavans; therefore, each of you is a welcome reinforcement. Only by accepting full citizenship will the path to the temple open to you. The first steps will determine the result of the whole. Accepting citizenship will not be just an advantage for you, however. It will be, above all, a commitment and acceptance of duties that you have not had to follow until now. Adoption is dangerous. It gives you great power, but at the same time, it places great responsibility upon you. If any of you decide not to accept it, I will not consider it a weakness, but on the contrary, an expression of honor. Those of you who recognize all commitments will go together with us into the temple. We will hear there the voice of the wise and powerful one who was reborn as a child. Who does not accept, let him depart in peace. Who accepts, will fight and die with us.”

Chapter XXXVIII: Initiation

A sacred silence fell over the hall. All seven senior members of Punar’s council stood motionless like statues carved from stone. If I could have stood near Mornil and looked at his face, I would have noticed the wonder reflected in his eyes after Punar uttered the last words.

“Now, then, all eight witnesses to the ceremony are present,” Punar’s voice rang through the quieted hall again, “unless Mornil renounces his witness.” He turned his eyes to Elder Koven, who, instead of an answer, silently stepped forward toward the royal throne.

“I ask you then for the last time. Are you at this moment ready to accept the names and fate of the Arkins?” the king turned back to the company.

My eyes caught the gaze of White Sandal for a moment. It had the color of steel, its hardness and coldness, but it could also kindle fire, and I felt my determination for battle growing more and more, and I barely hid the emotion that overcame me. Nevertheless, I remained standing and looked at my comrades standing around.

The sorceress Arsia was the first to step toward the throne, followed immediately by Omerin. The air mage hesitated for a moment; his upright figure stood motionless, the features of his face did not move. He turned toward Night Butterfly, who unexpectedly took several steps back toward the door. The eyes of all rested inquiringly on his tall figure with slightly slumped shoulders. Butterfly approached the door, and the lock clicked in the tense silence; the only entrance to the hall was closed. Then Night Butterfly turned and took a decisive step forward toward the throne. I exhaled with relief, for I knew, and so did all my friends, that we must carry this task to the end. If we left now, we would lose courage, and the battles we had fought so far would be lost.

When the King of Arkagant accepted our unanimous answer at this solemn hour, he spoke again in a grave voice:

“Hear the secret of the Middle:
The middle of the Arka is the Temple, and its middle is the fire.
The middle of the house is the sanctuary, and its middle is the fire.
The middle of a man is the heart, and its middle is the fire.
The middle of the universe is the sun, and its middle is the fire.
Fire is not that flame we see, but the secret of the clash, which only then begets the flame, to beautify itself with gold, as a phoenix with its feathers.

The middle is a place of meeting; the middle is a clash.
Where fire blazes, there two forces meet in eternal strife.
Where fire blazes, there two forces meet in inseparable weld.

Hear the secret of the Fire:
Fire is the union of heaven and earth, their glowing passion.

Fire is the blood that flows from Suvarna’s wounds.

An open wound is a morning (ráno) that divides heaven and earth and brings light. Therefore fire flashes from the wound.

After a night of love comes morning and brings the joyful pain of birth. The tidings that heaven and earth have met and their child is the sun. That which is born exceeds its parents. For fire is born from perpendicular sticks in which it was not.

Hear the secret of the House:
The temple is a house and the house is a man. The temple is not here for itself, but for the Fire. The house is not here for itself, but for the Temple. Man is not here for himself, but for the house. A finger is not for itself, but for the man.

Man and house, that is like a finger and a body. Within the walls of the house is a mysterious community. Here life joins, here life is born, here life is preserved, here life is protected, here life ends. For the Fire.

The house lives, it has a soul. People are its fingers; they carry its secret hidden among the walls, in its face. It is they who carry the essence of the house, and that is growth. Growth toward what we do not know.

Hear the secret of the Boundary:
The middle of the house is the sanctuary; it is its navel, middle, heart, conception. Smoke from the fire is like the umbilical cord connecting with heaven. The house grows, ages, and dies—much like a man. Therefore we found new houses and do not expand old and dying ones to monstrous dimensions. No house, nor man, outgrows its measure, for every living thing has its boundary. This boundary is the divide between the overgrown and the temperate. Between monstrosity and beauty.

And we are those who guard this wisdom. Even trees know their boundaries of growth, and they do not cross them, for they are wise. There exist, however, houses, people, and cities that have no boundaries and burgeon into chaos; those are the sons of the Dividers, to whom measure is foreign. We, who carry within us the awareness of the finger, the man, the house, the Temple, and the Fire, have measure.

There are sons of the Fallen who do not have this awareness. Their houses are for themselves, their Temples are for themselves, their deeds are for themselves and have no regard for anything higher. Their fingers are for themselves and therefore burgeon like a tumor or die of leprosy. Their people are for themselves and therefore burgeon through overpopulation or die of hunger. Their houses are for themselves, and therefore they are huge and grand or just collapsed hovels. Their Temples are for themselves, and therefore they swallow gifts and gold and there is no life in them.

Hear the secret of the Whole:
Not even a nation is here for itself, but for the Fire. A clan is not here for itself, but for the nation. A lineage is not here for itself, but for the clan. A family is not here for itself, but for the lineage. Man is not here for himself, but for the family. A finger is not for itself, but for the man.

A finger is an illusion, because it has meaning only in a man. Man is an illusion, because he has meaning only in a house. A house is an illusion, because it has meaning only in a Temple. A Temple is an illusion, because it has meaning only in Fire. Fire, though it cannot be caught, though it cannot be described, is real. A finger, though it can be caught, though it can be described, is only a word.

Who can catch the Whole? Who can describe the Whole? And yet only the Whole is not an illusion. We are the servants of the Whole. The Whole cannot be broken. Only the mirror of the human mind can be broken so that it sees it as broken. So did the Dividers at the Beginning, the destroyers of man.

We, the Hwarnij, stand as the eternal vigilant and invincible guardians of the Ancient Fire, which blazes between both shards of the primal division and we guard it against the Dividers. Our forefather Suvarna knew the deepest plots of the Lords of the shards and taught our fathers Angiras, Atharvan, Chaktra, Archin, Melittar, Aidar, Karian, Vina, Kanva, Pharan, Símia, Chanur, Avis, Aigan, Narka, Martha, Vastir, Utuni, Ruvan, Druvida, and Martha about Division and the Whole and the Path and the Fire and the Boundary and the Memory and the House and the Temple and the Heart and the Song and the Sun and the Moon and the Stone and the Wind and the Ice and the Day and the Night and Sleep and Vigilance and the Ship and the Tree and the Word and Silence and about all the runes that he wrote on the Liquid Mirror with his own blood, and so the Arka arose in the world storm at the beginning of time.

In his wisdom, he created his doctrine as the opposite of the Dividers’ doctrine, and so with every rune that a Hwarnij masters, he is closer to the Whole and is more immovable to the forces of the Dividers.

These are the words of the Doctrine. Nevertheless, only in connection with a true decision, with true understanding and true mastery of the runes will it make you Hwarnij.”

I tried to preserve Punar’s message deep in my memory; I stood with closed eyes and perceived with my entire mind and heart the meaning of the words, which were wisdom and truth.

Then the king turned to the witnesses: “Bring the ceremonial robes!” “And you, my dears,” he addressed us quietly, “remove your clothes.”

Silently, we freed ourselves from our garments. I felt the cool air touching my body; it was pleasant, but I had to dress immediately, along with the others, in a clean black cloak prepared for this ceremony.

“This ceremony, which usually lasts several days, must now take place in a few hours,” the king said, and when all eight witnesses stood in a circle around us, Punar raised both hands and everyone began to sing.

The song sung in the old Arkian language was powerful, and it was almost impossible not to fall under its spell. The flow of its tones poured into my heart, and I felt something inside me dying and departing. Old Ignis remained with his past far behind the firmly closed door. Parting with my old self was at first filled with a gripping pain, but it gradually dissolved in the melody filling the space of the hall. Now I knew with certainty that I would fight and die for Suvarna and my friends, and the song of these beautiful and wise people was for me the most precious reward I had ever received. The singing still did not cease when we were placed on stretchers for the dead and the slowly walking procession of Arkins carried us down the stone steps into the underground of the house. I observed the play of shadows flickering on the walls of the dusky corridors, only sparsely illuminated by a few torches. The procession stopped in a long dark room along whose wall pits were hollowed into the floor, just wide enough for even a man with massive shoulders to fit. These hexagonal holes into the darkness were our graves.

Slowly, I was lowered into one of the pits. I breathed a sigh of relief when my feet hit solid ground; the grave was no deeper than a bit over two swords. With the last note of the sacred choir, the iron lid slid over my head and I remained, just like my companions, imprisoned in complete darkness. Time and space slowly ceased to exist.

Chapter XXXIX: Rebirth

The soothing darkness into which I had fallen slowly became a natural environment for me; however, a somewhat oppressive feeling from the narrow space had not yet left me, which for reasons unknown was filled with a strange quiet roar of water that echoed from somewhere in the depths. In this complete darkness and oblivion, old images began to emerge. I remembered the strange fool and prophet Olmar, and how bottomless the abyss of his despair was. What was he so afraid of? Why did he not fight until the last moment like us? Does only despair really await us? However, the pure flame of the Aderán still burned before my eyes, and I knew that I wanted to feel its beneficial warmth on my skin, even if a hundredfold superior force of enemies guarded it. That thought returned my strength and I could once again calm my breathing.

Suddenly I heard someone’s steps above me, and the lid of my larval abode began to slowly slide away. The light of torches and fragrant herbs penetrated inside. Someone’s white hand offered me a wooden stick coated with honey. I tasted the sweetness of the sacred food, and immediately after, I was carried with my companions back into the great hall amid the singing of celebratory songs. In honor of our new birth, a feast for the initiates had been prepared. The scent of enticing dishes of the rich banquet gently touched my nostrils, and after a long time, I felt a gripping hunger in my entrails.

The short feast was a welcome final rest for all of us. I felt an unexpected influx of new strength and, at the same time, a desire to perform great deeds, which was likely evoked by that stay in absolute isolation from the world.

After the short but unforgettable feast, King Punar arose and said: “And now the time has come for you to choose your names. This choice does not differ from a true birth, for even then a child chooses which parents it will be born to. Now your time has come.”

Once more, I quickly scanned the eight witnesses. The handsome and wise King Punar sitting at the head—to me, a brave man with a questionable past. Next to him, always sitting, the palely beautiful Riva Onkira, most likely a Hwarnij by origin. A glow more powerful than from the eyes of the king himself radiated from her eyes. “She is stronger and more dangerous than the king,” flashed through my mind.

To the left of King Punar sat Lundir—artist, architect, and musician—a conciliatory man full of understanding. To me, however, too cold. And who sits at his side? Our good old friend Jezar. “For him, I would plunge even my hand into icy water,” I assured myself in my mind. We all owed it to him for what he did for Suvarna and for us. His fate, however, was marked by something and was more complex than it seemed at first glance.

To Jezar’s left sat Carmaoth Vinari. The elder of the smiths in the city. Probably the most massive figure in the hall. An Arkin to the marrow of his bones. A supporter of proven traditions; in his palm rested the decorated handle of a war hammer, which I had not noticed before. And next to him the hunter Askra—a person with whom you certainly have a unique chance of survival in the most barren Xalgon wilderness. She was the sixth.

Out of the eight, two remained—Mornil Vastia Koven, our generous host and Anskar’s spiritual father, and the last one.

Motionless and in a position of relaxed alertness of a waiting eagle sat Alquisaintri in a chair in the corner, one of the great heroes living among men. In his appearance, however, he resembled that predator more than a man. It was a great honor for me to move in the vicinity of this experienced warrior. “Thank you, Invisible Emperor, and you eternal Aderán, that I could meet these beings of unspeakable beauty and strength,” my inner voice spoke again. The choice of my new spiritual father was at an end, and I rested my eyes on the others.

“I choose as my new father Lundir Solpinar of the Vinari clan,” the half-elf spoke first as she rose from her place and lightly bowed toward the named one. The one addressed straightened up and said: “I am honored by your choice, and I give you now this new name—from now on you will be known among people by the name Milran Solpinar Vinari, daughter of Lundir. Your new surname ‘Milran’ means ‘Honeyed’ in our language, and it fits you precisely because your generous deeds are supported by the great effort you have so far expended for the success of all members of your company, much like a bee does for the success of its hive.”

After the half-elf, I stood up and bowed toward the eagle-man.

“You shall be called from now on by the name Eranu Vinar Vinari, son of Alquisaintri. ‘Eranu’ means ‘Fire’ in our language and is also one of the names for the eternal flame Aderán,” Alquisaintri said and smiled warmly.

After me followed Night Butterfly, who chose the beautiful Riva for his mother and accepted the name Darignatar Onkira Vinori. His name means “Dream Knower” in the language of the Arkins.

Omerin Green-Eyed chose Jezar as her father and accepted the name Myrkrún Atharvan Vinari, where the word ‘Myrkrún’ denotes ‘Forest Rune’, for it is precisely with the forest that everyone of the dryad race is connected by the closest bond.

I was filled with curiosity about when the last and most powerful of us—Súlin—would speak and whom he would choose. When he spoke the king’s name, my doubts dissolved as quickly as smoke by the wind. “I choose as my new father King Punar Onkira of the Vinari clan,” the mage spoke in a certain voice. The king rose and said: “From now on you will be known by the Arkian name Vaikavir Onkira Vinori. ‘Vaikavir’ in our language means ‘Air Smith’, for your strength springs from the air and you were the only one who could forge harmony once again in the Siranian Empire by having, together with the others, protected the scepter and the rings from the forces of demise.” He paused for a moment, then raised his voice and addressed us all:

“Welcome among us Arkins, sons and daughters! I want to remind you of three main things that follow from your new status. The first duty you accept is to speak about the secret of the Arka, which I presented to you at your initiation, with no one outside the Arka. The second commits you to participating in the most important Arkian rituals. The third thing is your right to build a house on the Arka in a time of peace.” A moment of silence ensued, which, however, the king soon interrupted again: “Now the time has come. If we want to arrive at the temple in time, we must set out immediately. Arm yourselves well, but keep your white garments on top, for thus it is the custom to enter the temple for all Arkins.” With those words, the king went toward the door to the underground corridor.